The Need to Know
by Fiorenza-a
Summary: He had watched in satisfaction as the canisters spewed forth their plumes of brimstone... Episode related: Need to Know


Cowley sank into the conservative leather upholstery of the armchair at his hearth and took an appreciative sip of the single malt he'd poured himself. The day had gone well. Her Majesty's enemies confounded, their knavish tricks frustrated, and both he and the country had prevailed.

Doyle had probably taken Bodie off somewhere to oil his throat with a less well heeled libation. Carbonated gases to fight the gases which had damaged it.

He had watched in satisfaction as the canisters spewed forth their plumes of brimstone, engulfing his men. Through the obscuring haze he'd seen Bodie's balance desert him as he'd clutched at the car for support, twisting to lie supine under the billowing sulphurous fumes. Doyle, scant feet away, folding into awkward angles like the spokes of a wind wrecked umbrella.

It had been worth it, but Bodie had suffered. Both men had, succumbing to the treacherous clouds as they had to. Limbs finally stilling almost as he got to them, the will to direct them extinguished. Bodie had been closest and he'd got to him first, but the lad had choked helplessly as he'd moved to revive a typically irascible Doyle.

He'd had the scent of blood in his nostrils then. Any concerns for the plight of the press ganged accomplice, abandoned semi-conscious to the mercy of more pedestrian authorities, subsumed in his glee. But even distracted by the laurels of victory, Bodie's plight had been a different matter.

In the warm glow of the firelight, the flames flickering amber and gold in a comforting parody of the mustard colours of the fog loosed on his agents, he had time to reflect.

Bodie was a valuable asset, expensive to replace, but it hadn't been that which had led him to comfort the lad as instinct instructed. Doyle was already starting to rally under his own steam when he'd realised Bodie wasn't attempting to move.

It was the need to get that asset up and functioning which had sent him scuttling back to Bodie's side, but it had been the lad's game struggle to comply which had sent his knuckles to skim tenderly along the side of the boy's face. Bodie had been bewildered and boyishly vulnerable, eyes glittering palely in the sunlight, weapon unheeded in the effort to clear his lungs enough to report his failure. For a fleeting instant he'd entertained the urge to hold him, but Bodie's pride wouldn't have thanked him for it, not in front of Doyle.

The boyish vulnerability had disappeared as Bodie had struggled to his feet, but the bewilderment had remained as they'd driven off, Bodie's lungs still rebelling as he'd demanded hoarsely ''I don't get it.''

Belligerent and sullen, almost literally backed into a corner, Bodie had demanded to know his plans; and so he'd explained, explained the move to triple think, and allowed the plan to follow his convoluted path to fruition and bloody murder. He had no wish to hide, he had been ruthless, aye, and was probably as old and fatherless as Doyle had begged leave to describe him. Older in weary experience and the arcane arts of duplicity than he cared to examine. Doyle was a good man, a difficult man, a counterweight to Bodie's overburdened soul.

The lad had recovered enough to do his duty, but he had begun to wheeze before they parted company. Doyle had sent a sharp, interrogatory glance in the boy's direction and Bodie's head had barely moved in a tight gesture of denial. Doyle's gaze had flitted back in exasperation and his own head had nodded in a gesture as restrained as Bodie's.

Doyle's response had been as subtle as a bulldozer ''Bodie, you need to see a medic.''

''Like hell Doyle, I'm fine. Call it a night, if you don't mind now sir, before Florence Nightingale here gets any ideas.''

''As you like Bodie'' he'd answered, but he'd caught Doyle's arm as he'd followed Bodie out. ''Watch him laddie, he's your partner.''

Doyle's eyes had blazed with indignant intensity in the instant before he'd replied ''I know that sir, he probably is okay, but he's stuck with me until he proves it.''

''You're a good man, Doyle.''

''Yeah, well, like you said, the man's me partner, isn't he?''

''I'll see you both at nine sharp then, there won't be much paper work on this one, but I want no loose ends untied.''

''Sir'' Doyle had acknowledged as he'd hurried after Bodie.

He'd have liked to have kept the lad with him, to be sure of his recovery, enough good men had been lost already. It would have been pleasant to while away a mellow evening in the boy's company, listening to tall tales and spinning a few of his own. To have him sleep under the same roof and be certain of his safety.

Still Doyle was a good man, prickly and difficult to handle maybe, but Bodie had the measure of him, they'd work it out between them. Even if the return to his desk in the morning brought with it a sleep deprived Doyle and a report telling him that Bodie had been admitted with complications arising from gas exposure and a freshly split lip. He allowed himself a wry smile at the picture. Doyle, never at ease with the violence, had a temperament predisposed to deploying it, whereas Bodie's more pragmatic and placid nature took nothing from the thuggery itself, his temperament more attuned to the adrenaline than the aggression.

Bodie's was a restless spirit, never tamed by what must now amount to nigh on two decades of disciplined service, but his loyalty to Doyle was absolute. Perhaps it was Doyle's spitfire nature, which had spat flame and tears enough to convince even the most obtuse of fools of his own loyalties, that held Bodie at his side.

Aye, the day had gone well. Things were as they should be. Time he took weary bones to bed; sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof. One day his orders might cost either or both those young lives and he doubted that the distilleries of his homeland had ever produced enough of their famous product to drown that particular sorrow.

Old, ruthless and fatherless he may be, but should that burden ever be his, he'd grieve without shame.

END


End file.
